Following the Mountain's catastrophic defeat and subsequent removal from the field, the atmosphere of the Hand's Tourney reached a fever pitch. Ser Loras Tyrell, severely shaken after nearly being cleaved in two by the Mountain's ambush, formally withdrew from the competition. Consequently, Sandor Clegane, the Hound, was declared the grand champion.
However, the absolute focus of the entire arena was not on the victor, but on Roman Rivers.
Watching the impossibly cruel, tyrannical beast known as the Mountain be effortlessly battered and sent flying through the air had intoxicated the crowd. The spectators felt as deeply exhilarated as if they had just downed a cask of the finest Arbor Gold, though they desperately tried to suppress their cheers out of sheer terror of provoking House Lannister's wrath.
The gathered knights and high lords stared down at Roman with pounding hearts. Many of the seasoned veterans silently swore absolute vows to the Seven Gods that they would never, under any circumstances, challenge the Lord of Harrenhal to a duel.
It was glaringly obvious to everyone with functioning eyes that the Mountain was only currently breathing because Roman actively chose to grant King Robert a political favor. Had Roman wished it, Gregor Clegane would have been a decapitated corpse the very second his greatsword shattered.
Though, with his face caved in and his leg crushed, Gregor was practically a corpse anyway.
Because his dark leather doublet was splattered with the Mountain's blood, Roman briefly retreated to his pavilion to change into fresh clothes before returning to the royal box to watch the archery contests.
Sansa and Myrcella, absolutely captivated by Roman's devastatingly heroic display, immediately swarmed him upon his return. The two girls chattered excitedly, completely consumed by their romantic, fairytale fantasies, eagerly describing Roman as the ultimate legendary warrior incarnate.
King Robert boisterously attempted to drag Roman away to drink and celebrate the Mountain's brutal maiming, but Ser Barristan eventually managed to persuade the king to remain seated and maintain royal decorum.
However, the members of House Lannister were faring miserably.
Tywin, Jaime, Cersei, Joffrey, and even the Hound felt a collective, suffocating shiver run down their spines the moment Roman calmly retook his seat beside them.
Jaime and the Hound, both highly experienced, lethal killers, were profoundly aware of the sheer, terrifying martial disparity between themselves and Roman. Watching this impossibly violent monster sit casually in a padded chair, laughing and gently chatting with two little girls, gave them a sickening sense of cognitive dissonance. It felt exactly like watching a massive, blood-soaked apex predator smiling affectionately at a pair of rabbits.
Tywin Lannister remained completely silent, his piercing green eyes locked onto King Robert. The Old Lion was furiously calculating whether this brutal public execution was Robert's intentional method of politically intimidating House Lannister.
As for Queen Cersei... the venomous idiot was still trapped in a state of helpless, hysterical rage. Although Gregor Clegane was merely a disposable mad dog utilized by her family, Roman's unapologetic, brutal public dismantling of their primary enforcer was a massive, unforgivable insult to Cersei's pride.
Yet, she was entirely powerless to retaliate. If she openly lashed out and displeased King Robert over a trial by combat, her father Tywin would absolutely skin her alive for her political incompetence.
Forced into silence, Cersei could only glare furiously at the side of Roman's head.
Suddenly, Roman casually turned his neck and locked his glowing, draconic blue eyes directly onto Cersei's.
In that fleeting second, the warm, gentle tenderness he had displayed while speaking to Sansa and Myrcella completely vanished. His deep, glowing eyes were completely devoid of any human emotion, radiating the cold, absolute certainty of a predator staring down its prey.
Cersei physically recoiled, feeling exactly like a helpless hen caught in the suffocating grip of a butcher's hand. Her arrogant fury evaporated instantly, violently replaced by a paralyzing surge of primal terror.
She only felt the crushing pressure recede when Myrcella happily called out Roman's name, pulling his attention away.
Tywin glanced over and noticed his fiercely proud daughter was suddenly drenched in a cold sweat. His temples began to ache fiercely. Aside from his brother Kevan, absolutely no one in his immediate family possessed the political competence to grant him a moment of peace.
The tournament eventually concluded as scheduled. The archery brackets and the chaotic grand melee finished in rapid succession, with the respective champions kneeling before the royal box to collect their staggering sums of prize money.
Roman and Lord Eddard both felt a profound, agonizing pang of financial heartache as they watched massive wooden chests overflowing with solid gold dragons being hauled out to the victors.
Even if Harrenhal's industrial engineering corps paved the entire Kingsroad with solid stone from the Trident all the way to King's Landing, it would not have cost a fraction of this wasted gold, Roman calculated grimly.
"Lord Eddard," Roman muttered under his breath, leaning toward the Hand. "It is absolutely imperative that you immediately seize total control of His Grace's daily royal expenditures!"
"If I actually possessed the political leverage to manage his coin, I wouldn't be suffering from a permanent migraine every single day!" Ned grumbled back miserably.
After the closing ceremonies concluded, the various noble factions retired to their respective manses and pavilions. Sansa and her younger sister Arya joined Princess Myrcella to continue excitedly chatting with Roman in the gardens.
Sansa had definitively lost absolutely all romantic interest in Prince Joffrey. In her rapidly maturing eyes, Joffrey was nothing but an arrogant, domineering brat who cowardly bullied those weaker than him.
As for their official, highly publicized royal betrothal? Sansa coldly recalled the strict lessons Septa Mordane had drilled into her at the Winterfell sept: Highborn ladies must always prioritize the strategic political interests of their noble houses over personal affection.
Since she and Joffrey despised each other anyway, Sansa was more than happy to simply ignore the vicious prince's existence and treat the betrothal as a purely sterile political contract.
Arya, meanwhile, was utterly mesmerized by Roman's devastating martial arts. She had recently begun taking secret lessons in the Braavosi Water Dance from Syrio Forel, and witnessing Roman's flawless, physics-defying combat had profoundly expanded her understanding of footwork and leverage.
The wild wolf girl relentlessly pestered Roman, begging him to visit her training sessions and exchange lethal combat theories with her Braavosi instructor.
However, this brief period of peaceful domesticity was violently shattered several days later. Lord Eddard and King Robert had engaged in a catastrophic, screaming argument in the Small Council chambers regarding Daenerys Targaryen.
Robert was absolutely determined to deploy the Faceless Men to assassinate the pregnant Daenerys, desperately seeking to prevent her from birthing a Dothraki son who could press a legitimate, powerful claim to the Iron Throne.
Ned fiercely, violently disagreed, entirely disgusted by the deep dishonor of murdering a pregnant child in the shadows. The devastating argument resulted in Ned furiously throwing his silver Hand badge onto the table and storming out of the Red Keep.
As the capital's political stability teetered on the brink of absolute collapse, Fili's massive black raven suddenly swooped down from the sky, dropping a highly encrypted scroll into her hands.
Fili broke the seal and read the cipher. Her eyes widened in absolute shock.
"Lady Catelyn has detained Lord Tyrion at Winterfell."
Roman blinked. Excuse me?
Fili frantically translated the rest of the raven's message. "Lady Catelyn claims to have found Lord Tyrion's personal belongings on the assassin who attempted to murder Lord Bran. To formally investigate the truth of the matter, she has placed him under house arrest within Winterfell."
"Is Lord Tyrion physically injured?" Roman demanded sharply.
Fili shook her head. "No, my lord. The raven explicitly states Lady Catelyn has not harmed him. He is simply being detained, though he is being treated with the courtesy due to a high lord."
Roman pinched the bridge of his nose. "Did King Robert and Tywin Lannister receive formal notification of this arrest?"
Fili quickly checked the intelligence network's timestamps. "Yes, my lord. Official ravens have already been dispatched to all the Great Houses. His Grace is fully aware of the situation."
Hearing this, Roman let out a heavy sigh of relief. At least the situation is completely transparent. As long as it is an official, highly publicized legal investigation, it shouldn't immediately escalate into open war.
"I highly doubt House Lannister would be foolish enough to orchestrate a violent political incident simply because Lord Tyrion is being legally detained for questioning," Roman reasoned aloud.
Fili stared at him with wide, completely bewildered eyes. Are you serious?
Roman froze. He looked at Fili, his draconic brain suddenly catching up to the volatile reality of Westerosi politics.
"Oh, Gods... No!!!"
This was House Lannister! When did Tywin or Cersei ever react to an insult without choosing absolute, disproportionate violence?
"Fili! Quickly! Access the raven network immediately and pinpoint Lord Eddard and the Lannister guard's current locations in the city!"
Seeing Roman's sudden, terrifying panic, the blonde aide instantly realized the catastrophic severity of the situation. She closed her eyes, forcefully pushing her Apostle magic outward to connect with her vast network of avian spies circling the capital.
After a tense, breathless moment, Fili's blue eyes snapped open in absolute horror.
"Lord Roman! The Kingslayer has just mobilized the Lannister red cloaks! They have ambushed and surrounded Lord Eddard in the streets!"
"Tsk!" Roman clicked his tongue in deep annoyance. "Fili, I will intercept the Kingslayer and reinforce Lord Eddard. You immediately locate our embedded agents within the City Watch and mobilize the Harrenhal Vanguard. We will maintain tactical communication via the ravens!"
Fili nodded fiercely and sprinted toward their hidden command post. Roman immediately activated his draconic physiology. He leaped off the balcony, effortlessly scaling the side of a massive stone manse, deciding to bypass the congested streets entirely by rapidly bounding across the rooftops of King's Landing.
Down in the muddy streets outside a high-end brothel, Lord Eddard had just finished quietly investigating another one of King Robert's bastard children. As he mounted his horse to leave, Ser Jaime Lannister and twenty heavily armed red cloaks violently blocked his path, completely surrounding Ned and his handful of Stark guards.
"Ser Jaime," Ned growled, his hand drifting toward the hilt of Ice. "What exactly is the meaning of this ambush?"
"Lord Stark," Jaime sneered, resting his hand casually on his gilded sword. "It appears your lovely wife has seen fit to kidnap my little brother. I have come to demand a proper explanation."
"An explanation?" Ned scoffed, gesturing to the twenty armed men drawing steel. "Is this how a Kingsguard politely requests an explanation? What good does shedding blood in the streets accomplish, other than violently exacerbating the political tension between Winterfell and Casterly Rock?"
Jaime laughed coldly. "All I want to accomplish today is to avenge my brother's wounded honor."
"Your brother is perfectly fine," Ned stated firmly. "He is unharmed."
"Truly?" The Kingslayer clearly did not believe a single word of it. "You violently arrest a Lannister on the Kingsroad and claim it is merely a polite 'investigation'? Do you take me for a fool, Stark?"
"So what exactly is your demand?" Ned challenged, his grey eyes turning hard. "If you dare lay a single hand on me in this street, I promise you, your brother will not survive the week."
Jaime stared at Ned for a long, terrifying moment. He finally nodded in dark concession. He turned to his red cloaks and casually issued a lethal command.
"Spare Lord Stark's life. Butcher the rest of his men."
Just as the Lannister soldiers raised their spears to slaughter the vastly outnumbered Stark guards, a deafening, booming roar echoed from the sky above.
"HALT!!"
The Lannister men frantically looked around the narrow street. Finally, their eyes snapped upward, spotting Roman Rivers standing precariously on the edge of the towering stone rooftop directly above them.
Dressed entirely in black leather and steel, Roman stepped off the ledge. Amidst the terrified screams of the surrounding smallfolk, the massive lord plummeted over thirty feet straight down, crashing violently into the cobblestones directly between Jaime Lannister and Ned Stark.
The sheer kinetic impact of his landing violently cracked the heavy paving stones. Yet, Roman simply bent his knees slightly, effortlessly absorbing the devastating, bone-shattering kinetic pressure with his supernatural physiology.
Roman slowly stood to his full, towering height. He casually rested his massive steel warhammer over his shoulder. He wore a polite, diplomatic smile, but every single soldier in the street broke out in a terrified cold sweat. Surviving a thirty-foot drop without a scratch was definitively outside the realm of human capability.
"Ser Jaime," Roman greeted smoothly. "There is absolutely no need to escalate this situation into a bloodbath. You are His Grace's sworn Kingsguard, and Lord Eddard is the Hand of the King. Surely two such distinguished men can resolve this dispute with words."
Despite the primal, suffocating fear clawing at his throat, Jaime's notorious Lannister pride refused to let him back down in front of his men. "So you expect me to simply stand aside and allow House Stark to kidnap my brother at their leisure?"
"They did not kidnap him," Roman corrected patiently. "Lady Catelyn simply invited Lord Tyrion to remain at Winterfell to participate in a formal legal inquiry. Did the official raven not explicitly state she was treating him with the utmost respect?"
"Then can I not politely ask Lord Eddard to accompany me so we might discuss the matter further?" Jaime sneered, his hand tightening on his sword hilt.
"Ser Jaime," Roman warned, his voice dropping to a dangerous, rumbling timber. "Are you currently acting on the direct orders of the King? Or are you acting purely on behalf of House Lannister? Let me remind you, Ser Criston Cole's bloody legacy is not a historical path you should wish to emulate!"
Roman's calculated words were a devastating, multi-layered insult. Comparing Jaime to Criston Cole—the infamous Kingsguard who betrayed his oaths, crowned a usurper, and plunged the realm into the Dance of the Dragons—was a brutal, highly intentional mockery of Jaime's history of breaking his vows and murdering the Mad King.
If a Kingsguard can break his sacred oath once, Roman's insult implied, why wouldn't he gleefully do it a second time?
Jaime's fury instantly overpowered his rational fear. He violently drew his gilded longsword, pointing the razor-sharp steel directly at Roman's chest.
"You are far too arrogant, you bastard!" Jaime roared.
The draconic Lord of Harrenhal stared down at the Kingslayer. The polite, diplomatic smile completely vanished from Roman's face, replaced by an aura of absolute, suffocating, glacial calm.
Jaime was entirely unyielding, and Roman's political patience had officially run out. It was time to resort to classical, concussive mechanics.
"Kingslayer," Roman growled, the insult echoing loudly off the stone buildings. "Do not push your luck today. Was breaking your sacred vows once not enough to satisfy your ego? Do you truly wish to betray the crown a second time?"
Hearing Roman scream the hated title "Kingslayer" in front of his men caused Jaime's fragile pride to completely snap. Screaming in rage, the golden knight lunged forward, swinging his longsword in a lethal, sweeping arc aimed directly at Roman's throat.
Roman did not even bother lifting his warhammer. He simply snapped his left arm upward, using his heavily armored gauntlet to violently backhand the flat of Jaime's blade, effortlessly deflecting the lethal strike.
Not good! Jaime thought in absolute panic, his momentum completely broken.
Jaime frantically attempted to scramble backward, but Roman's reaction speed was unfathomable. Roman stepped into the golden knight's guard and violently snapped his heavy boot upward, delivering a devastating, full-force kick directly into Jaime's groin.
The paralyzing, nauseating agony caused the Kingslayer's eyes to bulge out of his skull. He instantly dropped his gilded sword, clamping his legs together and dropping to his knees as his hands flew to protect his shattered genitals.
But Roman was not finished. Before Jaime could even hit the cobblestones, Roman unleashed a blindingly fast right hook directly into the Kingslayer's beautiful jaw. The brutal impact shattered Jaime's nose and sent the unconscious knight violently tumbling into the mud like a discarded ragdoll.
That shouldn't cause any permanent political fallout, Roman analyzed coldly. I will simply consider this a much-needed lesson in humility.
With their legendary commander violently knocked unconscious in the span of three seconds, the twenty Lannister red cloaks looked at each other in absolute, terrified bewilderment, entirely unsure of what to do next.
At that exact moment, Fili arrived at the end of the street, flanked by fifty heavily armored City Watchmen and Harrenhal Vanguard elite.
Seeing that they were completely surrounded and possessed absolutely zero chance of victory, the Lannister soldiers dropped their spears and immediately surrendered.
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